If you ever hear I died of an overdose, you will know I was murdered. I have a terrible time taking pills. I have yet to grow out of that idiosyncrasy. I am, however, pleased to report I no longer get locked in bathrooms.
Oh yes, I used to get locked in bathrooms whenever I traveled, she said airily. On the boat to Catalina (they lock the bathrooms five minutes out from the dock), in a high rise restaurant in San Francisco (I think this is where I just crawled out from under). Mexico, though, required my actually dismantling the entire lock mechanism. By the time the maitre d’ arrived, I was just walking out of the stall and placed the lock and the bolts and screws into his hands. Then there was the Isle of Capri.
The farthest I’ve ever traveled is 6,456 miles from Los Angeles to Isle of Capri in Italy. While the beaches were lovely, what I remember most about the Isle of Capri was getting locked in the Men’s bathroom. It began innocently enough. We weren’t paying attention, Kimberly and I, and just chose the first bathroom we came across to change into our swimsuits in anticipation of a picnic on the beach. Men started to come through the door. Kimberly, exclaiming loudly, firmly pushed the door closed in the men’s faces and threw the lock. I glanced around, “Wow. The bidets differ wherever you go…” We were ready and reached for the door. Locked solid. Kimberly said, rather unfairly I thought, “Oh, Hunt! You and bathrooms!” She knocked on the door, “Hello. … Hellloo …. ” We knew people were out there because we could hear them. Something must have happened because it had gone from a dull roar to pretty doggone loud. She began pounding. “Buongirno? Buenas Tardes? Buenas dias? Guten Tag? Anybody!”
I got Kim to give me a lift up to a window set high in the wall. Certainly, there was a crowd. Ah, there was Diana, the third of our trio. I caught the attention of someone and gestured for them to get Diana’s attention. Gratifyingly, we were catching the attention of the crowd. People were tapping one another and pointing to me. Diana spun around and raised her eyes. She looked a bit flushed. She was in the unfortunate position of knowing the two idiots on the other side of the door. “Huntie! What the hell are you two doing in there?!” I yelled back, “Hey, Diana, we’re locked in. Can you —-” Diana came close to stamping her foot. “Huntie! Come out of there, right this moment. You’re in the men’s room and the men have now taken over the women’s room!” This time, the hotel manager had to take the lock off. When he came busting on thru, my initial impression was of a large, highly incensed bulk of quivering jello. I was thankful I had taken French and allowed the Italian to just flow in one ear and out the other. It was a small hotel. For the rest of our stay, he would point to us, “Americanos!” and give that shrug all Europeans are famous for.